


Take My Hand, Fly Me to the Stars

by houseofbees



Category: Spider-Man (Cartoon 2017), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-02-22 14:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22717741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/houseofbees/pseuds/houseofbees
Summary: Five times Harry helped Peter and one time Peter helped Harry.
Relationships: Harry Osborn/Peter Parker
Comments: 38
Kudos: 177





	1. Stubble

**Author's Note:**

> The first two chapters of this are pretty much just fluff. However, I went a little crazy, and the last four chapters are more graphic. I'll add warnings to fit each one.
> 
> This is my first time writing a full-fledged fic that I was actually proud of, and my first time writing Marvel's Spider-Man. My memory is horrible and I didn't have time to re-watch the show, so I apologize for any inconsistencies. Hope you enjoy!

Peter lazily hung from the cozy rafters at the top of the Oscorp tower, Harry's bedroom. His eyes tiredly scanned the room, landing on his sleeping friend. Peter quietly laughed at his porcupine-esque bedhead. Somehow, his hair always ended up sticking out like a startled cat, but Peter's always clung tightly to his head. He combed through his hair at the thought.

"Harry," he yawned. The other boy shuffled, but only fell deeper into sleep.

The cocoon of bedding the boys had built before surrounded Peter. Tons, almost literally, of pillows littered the beams, with blankets tied together so he couldn't fall off. No particularly good throwing objects, except for maybe his phone and Peter himself. He had to make do.

As he was constructing a tightly-packed ball of several pillows, Harry yawned and his feet hit the floor. Hesitation stilled Peter's hand. He only needed one more web-stitch.

_ Thump! _

Harry screamed like a kettle just before the flying death ball bonked him on the head. Peter broke into a cackle.

"Peter?! What was that?!" Harry asked, bewildered. Peter struggled to calm himself down, his chest starting to ache.

"Oh my god, your scream, dude," Peter breathed. He took a deep breath, staring Harry directly in the eyes. "It was like a bad horror movie."

Harry scoffed, amused. Even breaking into a small smile of his own. "I think you're still asleep, Pete."

He shrugged and rubbed his eyes, stretching into a long arch before hearing a satisfying pop. Scratchiness plagued his throat.  _ Need some water. _

Gently hopping down, he strolled on over to a mini-fridge placed next to Harry's bed. His eyes scanned the contents; lots of Pepsi, some leftover pizza slices, a piece of garlic bread, and a neatly-wrapped sandwich. Absolutely no water.

"What kind of person doesn't have water in their fridge?" he asked himself, shaking his head.

Closing the fridge, he spotted Harry in the bathroom attempting to brush both his teeth and his hair simultaneously. Peter thought of that time his friend had tried pouring cereal and milk in his mouth at the same time, resulting in a gallon of milk smashed on the floor and, almost, a trip to the hospital. Peter himself had been supervising, and by the end was doubled-over in laughter while Harry stumbled over a defense. Peter smirked.

Joining Harry in the bathroom was rather complicated. The moment he'd entered, Harry blasted Peter in the eyes with some kind of spray-on mouthwash. Narrowly dodging a following attack, Peter managed to snag his toothbrush and take his place by the other sink. However, the shower was a whole other ordeal.

"What do you mean you should get it first?" Peter asked. "I was the one who stopped the Scorpion last night!"

Harry started towards the shower, indifferent to his friend's protests. "Yeah, and I let you infect my pillows with debris and acid."

"Then I should shower first! And I need it more, considering jumping around for hours on end every day doesn't exactly leave you smelling like roses."

"Ah, yes, fighting crime must be so difficult when you're a super-powered battle machine."

Peter scoffed, but didn't rebut his words. Only because this argument had gone on too long. Instead, he just waved him off, letting Harry steal all the hot water.

Finally, after what felt like hours, Peter had gotten his well-deserved shower. He ran his hands through his silky and soft hair, cherishing the fleeting moments of bliss. It was only a matter of time before his hair was either dunked in sewer water or burned off entirely.

Taking the liberty of stealing Harry's cologne, he stepped out of the bathroom dressed in an orange hoodie and purple sweatpants. Not exactly color combination of the year, but by the time Peter chose his clothes he was exhausted and only took the first things he saw.

Apparently, that did not vibe well with Harry. Within seconds of exiting the bathroom, Harry shoved him back in and told him to wait.

What followed was a minute of stomping, some thuds, and what suspiciously sounded like a crash. Harry finally came back to the bathroom, totally decorated with hangers holding all sorts of coats, shirts, and pants, and a determined look on his face.

"H-Harry?" Peter asked in awe, staring at the rows upon rows of clothes from brands he couldn't even begin to pronounce.

"I'm not letting any friend of mine go out dressed in orange and purple. Take your pick, heathen," he said, lining the metal bars with his outfits.

"Er," Peter said after he was done, "shouldn't you leave the bathroom?"

Harry paused, averting his eyes. "Oh, yeah."

And as quickly as he entered, Harry left just as fast, leaving Peter staring at the absolute sorcery his friend somehow seemed to comprehend. Fashion. 

He sifted through the outfits. None were particularly "him" but eventually one did catch his eye. A plain flannel shirt, unbuttoned, a black hoodie, and torn black jeans decorated with chains. He remembered his aunt May trying to dress him up like "all the cool kids do," which meant a clothing style ripped right out of the 90s. As a kid, he'd squirmed and protested incessantly, but as a grown-up, the style had proven to be a comfortable fit.

Running his fingers along the chains in the pocket and fiddling with them in his hands, he ultimately convinced himself to wriggle into the jeans and drape the flannel over his hoodie. Looking at himself in the mirror, he had to admit, putting effort into his appearance definitely paid off.

Fueled with newfound confidence, he strutted out the door and struck a dramatic pose. Harry laughed at his antics, giving an approving nod.

"You look awesome, bro." Peter briefly thought his eyes lingered on his body a bit too long, but it must've been his imagination.

"Yeah, I guess I do," he said, flustered. He jingled the chains in his pocket. "I think--"

"Wait," Harry said. Peter paused, looking at Harry. His friend seemed to have become entranced by some unseen witch. He slowly walked over to Peter. Harry furrowed his brows and gently placed his warm fingers on Peter's jaw.

The two stood there for a few moments, Harry observing Peter's face like he was analyzing a painting. Peter, meanwhile, tried to still his beating heart.

Harry snapped his fingers. "I knew it!" he exclaimed, backing away. "I thought it was just stubborn dirt, but no!"

Peter watched with bewilderment as he rambled on about debris and Peter's "ability to attract dirt like a magnet" with utter bemusement.

"But this isn't dirt!" he said, pointing accusingly at Peter. "It's stubble!"

Peter stared blankly at Harry.  _ This is it, he's finally gone insane. _ Then he raised a hand to his jaw. Instead of finding smooth (though usually scarred) skin, he felt fuzz. Peter pulled his hand back, confused.

"Okay... why would it only start to grow now?" he wondered aloud.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe that spider bite delayed your puberty. Would explain your squeaky-ass voice."

He scoffed, putting a hand on his throat. "My voice is not squeaky!"

"It totally is."

"Wrong!"

"Right."

Peter smacked him with the pillowball. Which led to a min-wrestle match, ending with the two of them laying on the floor, panting.  _ So much for clean clothes. _

He ran his hand over his face again. The sensation was so weird, alien. Though, in some way, it did feel nice. That was, before a glaring problem came to mind.

"I never learned how to shave," Peter said.

Harry glanced out the window with confusion, as if trying to ask Aunt May why Peter was such a mess, then sighed and looked back at Peter.

"Alright, I'll teach you."

"Really?" Peter asked, sitting up. Harry nodded.

Within minutes, Peter was hunched over the bathroom sink, splashing warm water onto his face. Harry busied himself by explaining how to glide the razor so he wouldn't scratch himself.

"So, before you start, put shaving cream on the places you need to shave," Harry said, tossing Peter a can of shaving cream. Peter rolled his eyes, a smile twitching at his lips.

"I know, Hare, I don't live completely under a rock."

"Sorry, I wasn't entirely sure," Harry said teasingly. Peter nudged him before smothering his face with the shaving cream.

Finally, it was time for the actual shaving. Peter examined the razor in his hands. Harry had explained- in full detail- how to handle it, but the sharp blades still made him a little nervous. What if he cut his face by accident? What if his hand slipped and the blades went into his neck? What if everything went just fine? Eh, no, that last one was too unrealistic.

Peter sighed. Only one way to find out.

Gently, he pressed the cold razor to his face. So gently, in fact, he barely touched the shaving cream. Peter frowned, while Harry broke into a fit of giggles.

“ _ Wow _ , Peter, how did you even do that?”

“You’re mean,” he whined, giving a half-hearted glare. Harry took a few seconds to calm down, and even then still had a wide smile on his face.

“Okay, just let me show you how.” Harry stepped behind him and grabbed Peter’s wrist.

With slow, gentle movements, Harry guided his hand along his face, making long, smooth strokes and leaving incredibly clean skin in the razor’s wake.

By the time it was over, Peter still felt the warmth of Harry’s hand on his wrist, and caught Harry’s eyes in the mirror. His friend’s face was mildly flushed, and he gave a forced grin. 

Peter had no time to ponder it, however, because pressing a hand to his face pulled him into the realm of fascination.

“It’s so soft”, he whispered. Like running his hands over a cloud. “Thanks for teaching me, Harry.” Peter tried to catch Harry’s gaze once again, just to prove this wasn’t totally awkward, but Harry just grunted in response and kept his attention on putting everything back.

By the time they’d finally pulled themselves together enough to leave the building, the air between them had returned to normal. During the elevator ride, they’d gotten into an argument about whether Steve Rogers was born in 1918 or 1920. Harry had won. Barely.

Just before they got into the limo, Harry stopped him.

“You’re welcome, by the way.” Peter blinked, then nodded.

“Cool,” he replied.

“And, you know, if you need help with anything else, I’m here for you,” Harry said, squeezing Peter’s shoulder.

They fell into a comfortable silence as they rode in the limo, but silence hardly ever lasts long between them.

“But I’m not teaching you how to put on a condom.”

Peter wished he’d brought the pillowball.


	2. Chapstick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again, sorry for any inconsistencies. Hope you enjoy this chapter :)

What a special day today was. Peter Parker’s birthday. May god help you if you tried to interfere with the birthday bash the Peter Protection Squad had been planning for months.

Gwen clung close to the walls, meticulously checking every detail in the decorations. Banners, balloons, even the confetti all had to be in an exact position. She claimed it was because of the Golden Ratio and Rule of Thirds, which Harry vaguely remembered learning about in his freshman year, but didn’t dare challenge her over.

Anya, meanwhile, busied herself by wrapping Peter’s gifts. And goddamn, that girl could wrap. Every present’s wrapping paper was perfectly aligned, with the curled bows on top never falling out of place. Of course, that was until Miles had accidentally ripped the paper off one. Both Gwen and Harry had to restrain Anya from beating Miles with her boot.

Speaking of Miles, he had gone out to make absolutely sure no supervillains would bother Peter today. And every couple minutes, an online counter would update the amount of crooks and villains arrested. Harry made a mental note to never, ever cross Miles.

Finally, Harry had assigned himself the task of distracting Peter. Gwen and Anya teased him, saying he just wanted an excuse to talk to him. Harry defended himself at first, but eventually realized the pointlessness of it.

And that’s how Harry ended up in the middle of an argument with Peter over the phone.

“Water  _ is  _ wet, Harry!” Peter said, distressed.

“No, it  _ makes  _ things wet.” The other boy sputtered. Harry could just imagine the exasperated look on his face.

“No, look, just--” Peter sighed. “Let’s just change the topic.”

“Admitting defeat, eh?” Harry asked smugly.

“Shut up, you twink.”

“Pete, do you even know what a twink is?”   
  


“It’s, like, a food, right?”

Harry paused. “In a sense.”

“Right, okay.” The two sat in silence.

Gwen caught his eye before he could say anything. She mouthed the word “Ready” at him, and gave him a thumbs up. Harry nodded.

“Hey, do you wanna come over? We’re at Horizon Labs.”

“Hm? Oh, sure!” Peter said, a smile evident in his voice.

“Cool! Seeya then, Pete.”   
  


“Seeya.” 

Right as he hung up, Miles swung in from the window, sweaty and panting like he was about to die. Anya scolded his dirtiness and sent him off to the showers.

The hour afterward blurred together. Everyone had been about to go to Peter’s house and drag him out themselves, until Harry tumbled over a stray wire, and in an attempt to steady himself, ripped one of Gwen’s banners in half.

The room erupted in a mix of screams, panicked orders, and frantic hands. None of which helped Harry back on his feet, by the way.

They’d barely fished a new banner out of a closet when Gwen whipped around and stopped everyone dead in their tracks.

“Wait.” Gwen said, eyes widening. Harry recognized that as what he dubbed  _ spider-sense eyes.  _ “Peter’s almost here.”

Gwen pushed Anya and Miles behind a couch, spinning to face Harry.

“Go distract Peter; stall for time.” Harry sputtered.

“Why me?!”

“Just go!” She gave him a stern look. Harry shook his head and rushed out the door.

Sure enough, there was Peter, walking down the hall with his phone in his hands. Upon hearing the door close, he saw Harry and smiled. Harry returned it, waving at him.

“Harry! What’s up, dude?” He wrapped his arms around Harry in a brief hug. Harry noted the faint chemical smell emanating from his friend.

“What took you so long?” Harry asked.

Peter frowned. “Got tangled up in a fight. Some guy named John Smith.”

He then rambled on about how the guy had fallen into a bunch of chemicals and how his suit fused to his skin. John had, understandably, flipped the fuck out and started attacking people at random.

“And there I was, just passing overhead, when this dude comes along and yells at me for laughing! I wasn’t laughing, by the way, just trying to stop this madman from tearing up the city,” Peter said, waving his arms around.

Harry gave him a pat on the back. Peter seemed to somewhat relax.  _ Wish I could’ve been there with you. _

“Well, you know, speaking of chemicals,” Harry started, handing Peter a slip of paper, “Oscorp is merging with Allan Chemical.”

Peter’s eyebrows went up, and he gave a proud smile.

“That’s awesome, dude.”

“Hella,” he agreed, “we already have a project planned that could give us insight into time travel.”

Now  _ that  _ got him. His eyes brightened and he straightened up, like a puppy watching a bone.

“Really?” he asked.

“Really.”

“Woah! Okay, okay, imagine what we could do with their research!” Peter started pacing around the hall, as if he himself were in the research labs. “What if we finally discover a way to match quantum mechanics and relativity? Imagine if we could start branching into other timelines!” He gasped, twirling to face Harry.  _ “What if we brought back the dinosaurs?” _

Harry laughed. “I’ll definitely ask them about that,” he said. “You know what would be epic, though?”

Peter nodded, as if reading his mind.

“Medieval sword fighting?” 

“Exactly.”   
  


What followed was a mess of limbs as Harry and Peter tackled eachother in a play-fight. After a couple seconds, Peter was already a giggling mess on the floor as Harry mercilessly tickled him.

“Okay!” Peter wheezed, slapping his hands way, “You win, you win!”

Harry grinned as he stood up. Peter flipped himself onto his feet in a flash, fixing his crooked hood. He caught Harry’s eyes, whose heart promptly did a 360 in his chest.

The younger boy looked absolutely ethereal, his fluffy hair messed up ever so slightly, his cheeks dusted with a light pink, a few golden flecks shining in the green of his eyes. Harry’s eyes dropped down to his parted lips, swallowing heavily.

When his eyes trailed back up, Peter stared at him with an unrecognizable expression, but quickly cleared his throat.

“Well, shall we join the others, Mister Osborn?” Peter said, dramatically gesturing to the door.

Harry blinked as he realized he hadn’t been paying attention. He had no idea if Gwen had given the sign yet or not. He mentally slapped himself and stepped between Peter and the door.

“Wait, we haven’t talked about the logistics of time paradoxes yet!” Harry said.

Peter made a face that said,  _ you’re pulling this out of your ass. _

“I… I mean, it’s crazy, isn’t it? If you went back in time and killed yourself then you wouldn’t have lived long enough to go back and kill yourself so--”

Peter cut him off. “Look, if Miles broke one of my robots again, it’s fine. No biggie,” Peter said, nudging him out of the way and pushing the door open. A spike of panic shot through Harry, forcing his hand on Peter’s collar and yanking him backward, straight into his chest.

“Harry, what the hell?” the younger boy asked, confounded. He pried Harry’s hand off him.

And, well, you know when you have a split second to make a decision? No time to formulate a plan and hardly any time to act, just running on the first thing that comes to mind? Well, when your best friend’s face is three inches away from yours and he looks _so damn beautiful_ and adrenaline is putting you in not quite the right mind, there’s only really one thing to do, right?

Harry jerked forward and smashed his lips into Peter’s. He tried not to wince as their teeth clacked together, a yelp coming from his friend. A stiff pair of hands landed on Harry’s shoulders, and Harry took that as a cue to wrap his hands behind his neck and pull Peter even closer.

Peter’s lips were dry and chapped, like the boy had never even heard of chapstick before. Still, they were soft and gentle, and Harry could barely focus on anything but them. Peter sighed as the kiss deepened ever so slightly, and Harry tried to ignore the traitorous heart rushing to his face.

A few seconds later, the pair slowly pulled away for air. Peter’s lips had left an imprint on his own, the spot where they’d landed burning as if asking for more. Finally, Harry opened his eyes.

Peter’s pupils were blown wide open and angled directly at the floor, his pink blush turned a deep red and now decorating his ears and neck. His mouth hung slightly open, slightly wet with saliva. Harry nearly went back in, you know, to stall for more time, before his phone buzzed in Gwen’s signature pattern. Showtime.

“Happy birthday, Pete.” Harry gave a quick, though strained, smile and pushed the poor, flustered boy into the room. He leaned against the wall as a chorus of “Happy birthday!”s rang out.

Genuine, goofy smile blooming on his face, his mind replayed the kiss over and over and over again. Funnily enough, it was the only thing he could do to stop himself from thinking about how passionate it all was, distracting himself with the fluttery feelings rising in his chest.

Only when Miles popped in to drag him back inside did Harry snap out of his flashbacks.

An aura of awkwardness followed every interaction he and Peter had afterwards. Usually, one of them would make eye contact or be shoved together by their friends, and they’d end up stuttering messes, making up some excuse to be alone once again.

And that’s how Harry ended up sitting in the corner, staring wistfully at the distant lights of the city. His reflection watched him back, judgement emanating from it. Harry stared at it out of the corner of his eye for a few minutes before looking away.

“Stop watching me,” he grumbled, before realizing he’d just spoken to his reflection and buried himself in his shirt collar.

For the life of him, he couldn’t help his mind replaying every little smile, every touch, every spare glance from Peter. The way his body moved with hardly any effort, the way his every move was gentle and careful, how curiosity always filled his eyes no matter what he was looking at. He imagined Peter tenderly kissing him, a warm hand on his cheek, and him pulling away to find Peter looking at him like he was the whole universe.

He had to physically restrain himself from squealing like a schoolgirl, the sparks of admiration for his friend bursting into roaring flames of affection and fondness. Something so all-consuming, so overwhelming, something he’d never experienced for another human being before.

Inevitably, he imagined he and Peter standing at an altar, the younger man dressed in a sharp black suit with a blinding smile on his face. He imagined sealing their marriage with a kiss, filled with love and passion.

Harry took a deep breath.  _ Gotta stop thinking about this. _

He pressed a hand to his pounding heart, shaking his head. Slowly, he brought his heartbeat down to a manageable level, and his face cooled off several hundred degrees.

Just in time, too, as a pair of footsteps caught Harry’s attention. To his surprise, Peter stood a few feet away from him, looking like a scared little cat. Even as he loomed over Harry, he still felt incredibly small.

“We need to talk, Harry,” Peter muttered, taking a seat next to him. His heart sunk.

The two sat together, watching the others laugh and banter and have a great time. Harry had a feeling both of them wanted to return to that as well.

“So,” Peter said, keeping his gaze firmly planted on the wall.

“So.” Harry followed suit, trying to prepare himself for the inevitable rejection.

“Was that your first kiss?” Harry blinked in surprise.

“Uhm, no. But, it was my first time enjoying it,” he joked. Peter grunted, though a smile twitched at his lips--  _ stop staring at his lips. _

Surprisingly, he and Peter settled into a comfortable silence after that. As his attention slowly drifted away from the conversation, it inevitably came back to the kiss and the way Peter’s lips felt. Chapped and dry. Harry fiddled with the tube of chapstick in his pocket, arguing with himself over whether or not to offer some or not. After a few minutes, he made his decision.

“Do you want some chapstick?” Peter looked over, curious. “I-I mean, your lips were kinda chapped. Not in like, a bad way, just-- it looks uncomfortable, you know?” Harry cringed at himself. “You don’t have to, it’s just--”

“Sure,” Peter interjected, snatching the tube from his hands. He ran it over his mouth a couple times, glossing them over with a nice sheen. “Better?” he asked, looking, amused, at Harry.

Harry's mind went blank as he gave him a quick peck, earning a squeak. Peter gave a little giggle, holding a hand over his face. The embers of affection once again burned in his chest.

“Much better.”


	3. Coffin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter is heavily based off Kraven's Last Hunt. potential spoilers and dark themes ahead. This is where the PTSD tag starts to come into play (though not as much as originally intended), and I would like to paint a big red warning that I have never had PTSD and have absolutely no insider knowledge of what it's like. so if you have PTSD and spot something that is inaccurate/offensive please let me know and i'll fix it asap. that said, thanks to Sparrow_Synopia for beta reading this chapter!

A blissful white. The crackling static in his ears. Everything is so, so wonderful. Can hardly believe the joy. Nothing bad could ever happen here. In this warm, lovely place. Filled with white.

Peaceful, like the winds on his skin. The stars spinning above and below him, he could barely believe it. The whole world, belonging to him.

The milky white clouds twirling overhead, dancing and laughing. He loved it. He loved them. Whoever he was.

The white walls, the white shirts. White, white, all of it white. Like those eyes,  _ his  _ eyes.

“Parker!” the voice screamed. Parker, Parker, who is he? Is he  _ him _ ? “You’re late for class!”

The man appeared, pale and covered in green and mixing horribly with the white, white sky.

“Stop looking at me like that,” the man demanded. “Don’t you remember, Peter Parker? Today’s a pop quiz.”

Oh.  _ He’s  _ Peter Parker?

“Otto-” Peter wheezed, “Otto, where are we?”

_ Otto Octavius is dead. Otto Octavius is-- _

“How are you…?”

_ \--dead. _

“You’re supposed to be dead!” Peter shrieked.

Otto’s eyes went fuzzy. His body fell to dust, right in front of him.

_ No, no, I don’t know anybody named Otto. _

The dust itself dissipated.

He doesn’t know anybody named Peter Parker. All he knows is the lovely white. Wrapping around him, gripping him tightly, making his world spin.

Peaceful and quiet, he loved it.

_ Harry? _

White, white, all he could ever want.

_ Harry Osborn? No, no, nobody.  _

White poured into him, filling him with joy and wonder and  _ oh god. _

_ No, no nice, soft hands. No crooked smile. No love. _

The white, fuzzy legs of a spider. Black and white.

Was  _ he  _ the spider? The never-ending web?

Yes, yes, the spider. A symbol of fear, of love. Of humanity?

_ Humanity is weak. No more Puny Parker. _

He was the spider, dangling and powerful and immortal and--

How long? How long has he been this monster? Wicked and venomous? Powerful, immortal…?

Men appeared in front of him, big and burly and angry. Wielding weapons and flames. Drums beating.

A spear hit him in his chest. Dead, dying. The spider was dying. Just like him.

_ Uncle Ben, Otto Octavius. Peter Parker. _

Was he really the spider? Or was he the coward, the weakling? The one who could die, hopelessly crying and screaming for someone to help.

_ Harry? _

Peter Parker. He was Peter Parker. And he was dying.

The spider is a coffin, a death-trap, set just for him. Weak, puny Peter Parker. That’s who he was, goddammit.

The spider was a coffin, and Peter had to break free of it.

Punching, kicking,  _ anything,  _ Peter gasped and cried as his fists hit hard wood. Dirt, infinite amounts of dirt rushed down upon him. Filling his mouth, breaking into his lungs and head with an awful taste.

Harry, Harry Osborn. The image of him flickered and wavered. Peter had to reach him.  _ He _ could help him, he always did.

Dirt, dirt, Peter clawed and thrashed at it, but it just kept coming.

The white, white sky embraced him once more, just for a second.

_ No, god, Harry. I need you. _

The dirt stopped rushing.

_ Harry. _

His hands hit air, sweet, sweet air. Peter thrust himself up, broken lenses giving way to the scene of a graveyard.

_ I love you. _

-.-.-

The church was nice, quiet. Pink and blue and oh-so-white. His legs burned and spiked with pain with every step, but something within him compelled him to keep going.

A warm, loving heat came from down the hall. Peter barely managed a whiff of the scent of cinnamon. His stomach ached yet hungered so desperately for the nice, relaxing feeling of a fresh meal. His throat replied with crippling dryness.

He stumbled his way into the library, a burning fireplace and a chair and table in the center. A sweet cinnamon roll sat there, making his mouth flood with saliva. God, how long had it been since he ate? Then, he caught a glimpse of black and gray.

Newspapers. Peter fell on his knees beside them. He shakily picked them up.

_ Spider-Man Berserk!,  _ read the headline. His eyes skimmed over the words.

Peter sucked in a tight breath. Two weeks?

Kraven had gone out masquerading as him, killing, slaughtering, putting people into comas. For  _ two weeks? _

Peter’s throat closed, red-hot tendrils curling around his chest. 

_ Two weeks!! In the ground, under a gravestone! _

And Kraven had stolen two weeks of his life, wearing  _ his  _ costume. Ruining his name.  _ Stealing his life. _

Peter tried to scream, but no sound came out. He huffed and wheezed as he struggled to his feet, trembling and falling all over himself. He toppled into the next room. A growl came from his left.

The glowing eyes of a tiger--  _ Kraven’s eyes--  _ stared at him, vengeful and hateful.

Peter screamed again, a horrible, ungodly screech ripping its way out of his throat. He lunged at the tiger, grabbing it by its tail.

_ Two. Weeks. _

He threw the beast through the wall.

_ And while I was rotting down there, what happened to my friends, my family? Aunt May… Miles… Harry… _

_ Harry. Dear god. _

-.-.-

It always came back to Harry. No matter how hard Peter tried, he always ended up back in the winding, infinite corridors of the Oscorp tower. The gray, metallic halls. So similar to the never-ending white, yet so, so different.

The door three steps down from the window. Harry’s room. Peter’s heart twisted in his chest. Two weeks without Harry. Peter’s hand shook as he roughly opened the door, his movements jerky from weeks without use. The sound echoed in the quiet room, making his sleeping friend shuffle.

“Hngh, j’st five more minutes,” he mumbled, turning in his bed.

His hair shot out like spikes, fuzzy and messy and beautiful. Peter could’ve dropped down and started sobbing then and there, but the soft breathing of his friend shook him out of it.

Peter made his way over to his bed, gently placing his hand on Harry’s face. Heat rose to his fingertips, jolting Peter into realizing his hands were _so goddamn cold_ , and for that matter, so was the rest of him.

“Harry.” His voice came out as a hoarse whisper. He tried again, saying it louder, but it only became squeakier. Peter curled in on himself as a coughing fit attacked his scratchy throat.

Harry startled, the bed squeaking as he jerked awake. Peter wheezed out something that sounded like a greeting, but his ribs ached and his lungs felt ten times smaller and he could barely focus on anything else.

A hand landed on Peter’s back, soothing and warm and caring. Peter shivered. Harry’s hands were so, so comforting. Peter leaned into the touch, a feeling of euphoria engulfing him. He almost laughed at himself.  _ Two weeks underground really makes you appreciate human contact, huh? _

“Peter?” Harry whispered as Peter started to calm down.

“Hey, Harry,” he replied.

Panic, relief, and confusion all flashed in his eyes at the same time. Harry bit his lip, his eyes watering and brows furrowing. Peter weakly placed his hand on his shoulder.

“I think--” he took a deep, rattling breath-- “I think I died for two weeks.”

Just like that, Harry burst out sobbing. He wrapped his arms tightly around Peter, his tears wetting his dirty costume. Peter felt tears sting behind his own eyes as he buried his face in Harry’s neck.

“Oh- oh god,” Harry choked out, “I thought you were gone- dead, forever,  _ Peter _ .” He gasped, shaking in Peter’s arms.

Peter squeezed his eyes shut. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Harry clutched Peter like his whole world depended on it. He held him with such desperation and relief and grief, his hands running up and down Peter’s back.

“Good god,  _ Peter _ ,” he said, voice cracking, “please, tell me this isn’t a fucking joke.”

Peter shook his head, though he wasn’t sure even  _ he  _ believed it.

Harry pulled away from their embrace, flimsily grabbing his phone from his nightstand. He froze as his thumb rested on the power button. Peter realized what he was doing, and his heart sunk. Harry was going to take a picture of him, as proof he wasn’t hallucinating.

A flash went off, and Peter winced as the light hit his sensitive pupils. He watched carefully as Harry sucked in a breath, full of hope.

“You’re real,” he breathed. He broke out into a wide smile, laughing and sobbing and tackling Peter into a death-grip.  _ “You’re fucking real.” _

Peter smiled, holding Harry as he wept and shook and laughed.

“I-I thought I’d gone crazy,” he started, “two weeks without Peter Parker while Spider-Man went on a killing spree and everyone thought you were dead and I didn’t want to believe it but god, it was so hard.” Harry took a deep breath. “But I’m not crazy! I’m not crazy, because-because you’re here!” Harry’s breathing sped up. “You’re here, you’re here. God, I love you so much, you know that? I love your heart, your soul, every-fucking-thing you do, it’s all so lovely and wonderful and  _ you’re  _ lovely and wonderful, you know?”

“Harry?” Peter asked, stopping his friend. Harry had started hyperventilating, slurring his words.

“I love you, Peter Parker.” Harry gripped Peter’s hand, tender and earnest.

Peter sucked in a breath. Oh.

_ Oh. _

“Harry.”

His friend stiffened.

“Oh, oh god. This was a really bad time, huh?” He gave a strained smile, his eyes puffy and tired. “Okay, okay, just pretend I never said anything. We’re good. We’re good,” he said, sounding like he was trying to convince himself more than anything else. 

He looked at Peter, at his scratched and torn and bloody costume, his eyes widening, and Peter could swear he heard the switch go off in his head.

“Shit, dude, what  _ happened?” _

Peter swallowed thickly. Kraven the Hunter happened. A silly TV man in tiger’s fur gone mad, revealing such sadism and violence that Peter’s head spun thinking about it. A scene popped into his mind, of the day Kraven had “killed” him.

It was just a normal encounter. Kraven had threatened him, saying the spider would finally be captured, but something was wrong. There were no cameras, no silly sponsors or advertisements. Just loud, banging drums, and a man with a maniacal determination in his eyes.

Peter had ducked into an alleyway, trying to catch his breath. Kraven was fighting stronger and faster than ever, and it had thrown him for a loop.

Then, a heavy thump sounded behind him. The moment he spun around, a sharp object hit his chest. Peter couldn’t remember anything after that, except for…

“I crawled out of my own grave,” he deadpanned.

Kraven. That son of a bitch did this. Took his name, took his life, shot him and buried him alive. 

God knows how Aunt May was holding up. Just starting to move on after Uncle Ben’s death, and then her nephew goes missing.

With great power comes great responsibility, but maybe Peter’s responsibility was to make sure nobody suffered the same fate he did. A strange determination filled his chest at the thought. He remembered the feeling. He’d felt it before when he was chasing Uncle Ben’s killer.

Peter’s body moved on its own, rising from the bed and pulling his mask over his face. The lenses were cracked, and dirt fell from his stained suit with every movement. He vaguely heard Harry calling his name, but his mind felt foggy. The mask felt powerful,  _ right. _

“I’m going to stop him.” Peter crawled onto the window sill, looking out onto the glowing city.

“Peter,” Harry started, grabbing his shoulder.

_ I love you, Peter Parker,  _ his mind echoed.

A hand gently pulled his mask up, cold night air hitting his skin. Then, warm, soft lips hit his mouth, sending his heart leaping into his throat. He wrapped his hands around Harry’s neck, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss.

Harry cupped his face, pressing his forehead to Peter’s and breaking the kiss. The two stayed like that, embracing each other and soaking in the other’s presence. Finally, Harry spoke.

“Just come back to me, okay?” he said, slowly letting his hands drop to his sides.

Peter gave him one last peck, then tugged his mask back on.

“I promise.”

And as he swung in the chill of night, rain coming down hard on his thinly-clothed skin, only one thought ran through his mind.

_ I love you, too, Harry. _


	4. Stitches

Harry soared above the dazzling lights of the city, cold wind biting his skin and air rushing loudly in his ears. A cold moisture held in the dawn's wake, fogging up his mask with every breath. His metal glider held steady despite the rough breezes and left a trail of cloud wherever he went.

Rising above the roaring wind, a familiar sound rang out. A _thwip_ signature of the man himself,

" _I am the marvelous Spider-Man!_ " Peter yelled, rocketing up into the air. Harry watched as Peter flew higher and higher and higher, until he hit the peak of his arc and plunged back down, leaving nothing but a streak of red and blue.

Harry broke into a smile. He tapped the side of his mask, activating wireless communication.

"Hey there, Pete, havin' fun?"

Peter promptly yelped, audible from both below and in Harry's ear. The blue of Peter's costume turned into red as he turned and caught a webline on Harry's glider.

"God! You scared me!" he said, yanking himself onto the glider's body. A soft thud sounded as his feet hit metal. His head peeked over the edge, eyes wide and uncertain. "What are you doing out so early?"

Harry shrugged. "The usual. Caught a guy who stole our time travel research, so now I'm bringing it back."

Peter pulled himself right-side up, bumping into Harry's chest as he steadied himself. Little butterflies broke out in his stomach. His eyes traced the soft outline of Peter's jaw before he caught himself. They weren't official. Not yet.

"Really though, it's so early." Peter paused, looking at the rising sun. "How long have you been out here? Also, do you have anything to eat."

Dodging Peter's first question, Harry rummaged through his suit pockets. "Fruit gummies," he said, tossing them to Peter. "Anyway, we're lucky to have gotten it back. Only a _few_ weeks of research was lost."

Peter's eyes drooped down into little halves, looking totally ridiculous in combination with the red gummy sticking out of his mouth. "The project is still good though, right?"

A fond memory emerged from the back of his mind. Peter's seventeenth birthday. Harry smiled, pressing his hands to his chest.

"Alas, poor Spidey, he will never get to bring back the dinosaurs," he said dramatically. Peter laughed, punching him in the shoulder.

"I'll have you know that I--"

A loud _BOOM!_ drowned out Peter's words. They both flinched, throwing their arms over their heads. Harry looked down at the streets to see a blazing crater in the middle of an avenue. A giant golden disc stood in the center. A trail of glowing yellow zoomed away from it.

One look was all it took for Peter and Harry to get to work. Peter slung himself towards the site with reckless abandon, while Harry sunk his glider into a nosedive. The rushing air engulfed him in a reassuring hug, filling him with confidence as he zipped towards the crumbling ground.

Veering to a stop, Harry caught a glimpse of Peter landing in front of the yellow trail before he turned his attention to the disc. Actually, getting a good look at it, it wasn't a disc at all.

A looming golden wheel revved in front of him, decorated in guns and bazookas and even spikes. It miraculously stood balanced, with a series of rotating parts that resembled a gyroscope. A booming voice broke through the air.

"Out of my way, mortal! This is none of your business!"

The wheel shot a lazer beam at him, which Harry narrowly dodged. He jumped behind it, scanning for any weaknesses. Harry's bombs could take out the guns, but otherwise there was nothing for him to work with. Only the window could qualify as a target, but Harry doubted someone as over-the-top as this guy would leave the window unguarded.

But before Harry could fish out a pumpkin bomb, his communication device crackled to life. "This kid, Rocket Racer, calls the wheel guy Big Wheel," Peter explained. "Says he got into some trouble with him and--" he grunted as the Wheel fired a blast-- "and now the wheel's trying to kill him."

"Big Wheel?" Harry echoed, following the ground-shaking machine. "Why can't it ever just be a bank robber?"

Citizens screamed and ducked out of the way of the so-called Big Wheel. The streets, thankfully, emptied within a matter of seconds. Harry thanked the gods as he was able to swerve freely on the streets.

Peter and Rocket Racer jumped and ducked away from the Wheel, webs and little lazer beams flying everywhere. Bullets flew and buildings started to crumble. Harry realized with a sinking feeling this may not be such a silly villain after all.

"Racer!" came the Wheel's voice. "If you won't pay with your money, you'll pay with your life!"

Harry tackled Racer out of an incoming blast. The kid gave a little thanks and pried himself off. Landing on a hoverboard, he darted into an alley. A switch suddenly went off in Harry's mind.

"Hey kid," he said, blocking bullets with his sword, "how does that board of yours work?"

"I use solar energy to make it hover," he replied zooming up a wall, "and I use a gyroscope to keep it balanced!"

"Smarter than me," Peter muttered, throwing a detached spike back at the Wheel.

Harry grinned beneath his mask. He _knew_ the wheel was a gyroscope! Now, if he could take out the central axis...

"Racer, guide the Wheel towards the Hudson. Spidey, get as many people evacuated as possible."

With that, they broke off into branches. Harry attacked the Wheel directly, while Racer zipped through the streets and Peter jumped between streets faster than the blink of an eye, carrying crying civilians to rooftops.

Finally, they arrived at the coast, and Harry pivoted in front of the Wheel. Spinning rings twirled around the center hypnotically, leaving a small opening which Harry could fit through if he timed it right.

"What are you--?"  
  


Harry cut the Wheel off, lunging straight into the center. Just as he thought, a golden pole held the whole thing up. Readying his finger blasters, he ducked into the main control panel. But something caught him..

"Hobgoblin!" Peter said, jumping in front of him. Harry startled, stumbling back. "I know what you're thinking, but if you do this, the whole frame will come down on you."

"Are we seriously doing this right now?" Harry asked, gesturing to the rotating rings. "I'm covered in nearly indestructible armor, I'll be fine."

"This thing is made of solid gold. The frame alone weighs tons of pounds. Sorry, Harry, but your armor can break. Mine doesn't."

"What--?"  
  


Harry didn't get to finish his question. Before he even knew what was happening, his glider carried him away from a bursting explosion. He blinked, trying to process what had just happened. The dust settled around him, and as he steadied himself, he caught a look at what the Wheel had become.

A collapsed heap of gold and green, flames roaring from within. A man hung, unconscious, on a light pole mere feet away. With no sign of Peter.

Swallowing a lump in his throat, Harry tediously checked under every piece of debris. Not a single fragment, shred, or bit of metal went unseen, but no matter what, all he found was shreds of red fabric.

That is, until, a series of splashes sounded behind him. Whipping around, Harry came face-to-face with Peter.

"What... just happened?" he wheezed, before collapsing. Soaking wet and completely unmasked.

-.-.-

Peter's breath was soft and warm against Harry's hand as he patched up the scars and bruises left by the latest evil nutcase of the month. Turns out, Peter had taken a dive into the Hudson river when the wheel exploded, infecting him with god-knows how many germs. So Harry had wrapped him in a towel and gotten to work on disinfecting his wounds.

Thing was, Peter's healing factor worked faster than he could. Even as he diligently stitched up every broken bone and bleeding cut, Peter's body scarred and sewed up wounds faster than Harry could spot them. Not that this was particularly surprising, he knew Peter had once healed from a broken leg in a matter of days, but seeing it in action floored Harry. Something which had once been science fiction was now happening, right in front of him.

Peter hissed as Harry wound a bit of gauze around his shattered arm. Harry winced, glancing at the painkillers on the table.

"You sure you don't want more pills?"

"Harry, I've already had four within the last thirty minutes. If I take another, I'd probably die," he said, his throat hoarse like he'd swallowed barbwire.

They sunk into a silence after that. Harry felt heat rise to his face as he rolled Peter's blood-stained tights off his legs. He and Peter had a lot of experience being half-naked with each other, but Harry had never been so... close. It didn't help that whenever they caught eyes, Peter would wink and give a wicked smile, albeit with an equally as red face.

"Can't believe you fell into the Hudson river," Harry mumbled. He watched as a little cut stitched itself back together, leaving only a white mark where it'd once been. "How'd you even manage that?"  
  
  


"Beats me, man. Literally," he chuckled, then groaned in pain. "Shit, my ribs."

Harry shook his head, finishing off a deep cut and leaning back, exhausted. Nearly every wound had been taken care of and Peter seemed a little more relaxed. Remembering how scratchy Peter's voice sounded, Harry grabbed a water bottle and tossed it to Peter. He gratefully accepted, chugging the entire thing down in one go. A little drop of water traced his lips when he let go, and Harry may have let his eyes linger longer than necessary.

Peter ran his hands through his soaking hair, frowning in disgust as he pulled out a strand of seaweed.

"Ew," he said, flicking it away, "god, my hair's so dirty," he complained. He paused, looking at Harry. "Could you wash it. You know, since..." He gestured to his cast.

Harry agreed, letting Peter latch onto him like a koala. He wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulder and his legs around his torso, letting Harry carry him all the way to the bathroom.

Peter laid on the counter, head gently resting in one of the sinks. Harry cringed at how uncomfortable it looked, but Peter insisted it was fine. Despite this, Harry snuck a towel under Peter's neck anyway.

Once everything was all ready, Harry hesitated. Peter's eyes were peacefully closed, face decorated with faint white and red marks, yet they did nothing but make him more beautiful. And here was Harry, about to put his hands on a boy who, by all accounts, should be recognized as a world wonder. He almost backed out, swearing to his pounding heart that he'd never let it beat again, but Peter stirred and looked at Harry with sweet, wide eyes flaked with little golden flecks. Harry gave a smile, starting the water.

Peter's eyes closed the moment Harry's hands touched his hair, leaning into Harry's touch and almost melting with every little movement. Harry tried to not make it weird, tried to stop the fond and loving feelings spreading over his chest, but maybe the nights they kissed were more than enough confirmation. _Were they? Am I just being weird?_

He'd gotten so lost in his thoughts he only barely noticed Peter's hair was clean and free of dirt and seaweed. By the time Harry was running a towel through Peter's hair, his heart had beat so much that it felt like he'd aged fifty years. But catching a glance of himself in the mirror, he was still the same hot mess he'd always been.

Peter's lips curled into a smile that he didn't even seem aware of.

"Thanks, Harry," he said, his voice noticeably smoother.

"No problem, Pete," he replied, pulling the towel off Peter's head. Harry's breath caught in his throat.

A mess of wavy locks greeted him, framing his face like an artist had meticulously placed them for the utmost beauty. Peter ran his fingers through them, the strands clinging to his rough hands. Harry's own hands itched to do the same.

Peter caught Harry's eyes, stiffening ever so slightly. As if pulled by an unseen force, they leaned in to eachother, Harry's hand landing on the back of Peter's neck while Peter pulled him in by his shirt collar. At the very last moment, though, Peter broke the trance they'd both gotten stuck in.

"Goddammit!" Harry jumped, heart sinking in his chest. Oh god, he was being weird, wasn't he? He opened his mouth to apologize, but Peter cut him off.

"I'm sick of this tension! This is like the fiftieth time we almost kissed!" Peter kept his eyes firmly on the floor, hands waving with his speech. "It can't keep going on like this."

"Peter--"

"Will you be my boyfriend, Harry Osborn?" Peter asked, looking Harry straight in the eyes. A shock ran through him, freezing him in place.

"Huh?"

Peter's eyes softened. "Sorry. I just--"

"Yes."

"Huh?"

"Yes. I'll be your boyfriend."

Peter smiled. "Great."

And finally, their lips met in their first official kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was kind of awkward for me to write so sorry if it felt awkward for you, too. big wheel's just such a ridiculous villain lol. thanks for reading anyway! I'm hoping the fifth chapter will be up soon, so stay tuned. drop a comment if you'd like. even a simple "<3" or "YES" makes me hella happy.


	5. Sticky Notes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ACCIDENTALLY WROTE THIS IN HARRY'S POV IM SORRY FOR BREAKING THE PATTERN LMAO
> 
> i also wrote the majority of this at 2-3 AM without a second draft, might review it in the morning. hope you enjoy

The soft sounds of plastic against plastic echoed in the cramped room. Harry groaned as Peter struck a hockey puck straight into his goal, an obnoxious beep sounding from the table. Peter gave a teasing smile.

"Hey, you're the one who wanted to play air hockey."

"Yeah, but I thought  _ I _ would be kicking  _ your _ ass."

"Sorry, my ass is strictly off-limits. Unless...?"

Harry barked out a laugh, shaking his head. He shot a puck at Peter's goal, and predictably, Peter deflected it with no issue.  _ One of the times I wish he didn't have superpowers. _

Peter paused, looking at the fresh puck on the table. A strange look came over him, his shoulders sagging ever so slightly.

"I can't believe I'm graduating high school. I'm an adult now. That's insane."

Another beep. Peter had to be at least fifty points ahead of him now.

"Yeah," Harry shrugged, "In three years we'll be able to drink. Crazy. Just a few minutes ago we were fifteen and you were wearing glasses."

"Don't mention the glasses," Peter said. He leaned over the table, hair falling directly into his face. Peter had stopped straightening it ever since the fight with Big Wheel and Harry was ninety percent sure the girls, and some boys, had started paying more attention to him. Not like it mattered anymore, anyway. Everyone was _very_ aware of Harry and Peter's relationship ever since the broom closet incident.

Peter caught his eye through a slim gap of hair. Harry raised an eyebrow.

"How long do you think I'll live?" Peter asked. Harry paused.

"What do you mean?"

"Just--" Peter made a vague gesture-- "I have all these superpowers that enhance my strength and speed and make me stick to walls. How long will I even live? Will I live to be two-hundred or die at thirty due to radiation poisoning?"

Harry took a good, long look at him. Peter looked like death incarnate, having pulled several all-nighters due to someone called the Sin-Eater and final exams. His hands shook with caffeine-fueled adrenaline, and dark bags hung under his eyes. Like he got hit with the weight of the sun several times.

"I don't think it matters that much," Harry mused. "As long as you're happy, death won't mean much."

Peter pulled himself back up. He aimlessly hit the puck, bouncing it off the edges of the table and even into the air before it landed straight in Harry's goal.

"I heard somewhere that when you're old, you'll regret the things you didn't do more than the things you did."

Another beep. Peter was one point away from winning.

"Good advice," Harry said, looking down at the table.

Peter hummed. He opened his mouth, about to say something, but a beep interrupted him. This time, from Peter's goal.

"Finally," Harry muttered. Peter smiled fondly, cracking his fingers.

"Alright, so that's how you wanna play it?"

The next few minutes were filled with whoops, a whole lot of clinking, and a competitive tension that could rival playing UNO at three AM. Harry narrowly avoided Peter scoring another point, but Peter deflected every attempt at getting the puck through his goal. Harry sighed, but an idea clicked in his mind.

"Hey, Pete."

"What?"

"We should get married sometime."

Peter stumbled, looking at Harry, flabbergasted.

"What? How did you--?"

Harry shot the puck into Peter's goal, a shit-eating grin forcing its way onto his face.

"Oh. You motherfucker." Peter rolled his eyes, but a small smile bloomed on his face.

They continued for a few more minutes until Peter scored a winning point. He immediately broke into a victory dance, boasting about his "epic skills" while Harry cracked open a soda.

Settling in the beanbag chairs at the end of the room, they switched on an episode of some TV show and dropped into a comfortable silence. That was, until, the credits rolled and Peter turned to Harry with a look that screamed: "I have a bad idea and I'm dragging you into it."

"Hey, Harry?"

"Yeah?"

Peter smiled wickedly. "I wanna pull a senior prank."

-.-.-

"I cannot believe you convinced me to do this," Harry said over his stack of post-it notes. "These are really heavy, by the way."

Peter turned, precariously balancing ten stacks on each of his arms, and two on his head. "Aw, come on, this'll be amazing."

"And how are you planning on covering the entire school with these?"

"It's only fifty-five square acres."

Harry groaned. Making his way across the parking lot was harder than expected. Peter, with his spider-senses, could easily dodge the bumps and holes decorating the asphalt, but Harry tripped and fell multiple times. Peter offered to carry all the stacks instead, but Harry took one look at his stupid, dicey balancing act and told Peter he wouldn't add even a feather to his stack.

After what must've been hours and several car trips back to Oscorp, they finally had all the sticky notes in one place. Taking a look at all of them at once, Harry found himself speechless. They easily filled up the garage where they'd stashed them, and even then they scraped the ceiling.

"How... How many are there?" Harry asked, dumbfounded.

"About forty-five million," Peter said. "Forty-three would've covered the campus but I added the extra two million for the walls and desks, and good measure."

"God, we're gonna spend our entire weekend doing this?"

Peter shrugged. "Not like anybody's gonna be here. Horizon's gonna be abandoned, and we'll have the place to ourselves."

Harry's eyes traced Peter's figure, licking his lips. "I have a much better idea of what to do with our alone time."

Peter flushed. "I--? Shut up."

Peter insisted on color-coding the notes, even pulling out a chalkboard and sketching Horizon's layout to assign specific colors to the quadrants. Yellow for the upper left, orange for the lower right, blue for the lower left, and pink for the upper right. Harry tried to argue, he really did, but Peter shut him down by pointedly sticking an orange note on the outside hall.

Reluctantly, Harry got to work. He decided to start with the upper left since it was the biggest, and alternate between the quadrants every hour. Peter started with the lower left, and every so often, he could hear Peter's footsteps on the same wall. And occasionally a loud thud and distant swearing.

The thing was, placing post-it notes was a lot harder than one would expect. At least, in terms of repetition. Even when Harry tried to spice things up by placing the notes in a different pattern, the fact was he was still placing notes. He asked himself why he even agreed to this, before remembering Peter's got him wrapped around his little webbed finger.

Harry stared harshly at the yellow post-it notes. He'd been at this for about eight hours now, and barely a fourth of the school was covered. An entire quadrant, sure, but Harry, with one note per two seconds, felt severely inadequate compared to Peter, who seemed to work at about one thousand per second. Actually, after doing a little math, it was about five-hundred twenty, but who was counting?

He was just about at the end of his string, a few hours later, ready to call it a day and sleep for twelve hours before a certain orange note caught his eye. Specifically, the messy black handwriting on it.

_ Beep _ , followed by a little scribble of the Spider-Man logo. Peter had definitely written on it in some sort of exhausted haze. He even accidentally wrote the P in the other direction, and hastily written the correct orientation over it.

Harry smiled. Fishing a pen out of his pocket, he wrote a small note next to it.

_ Tired yet, Pete? _

Just in time too. Harry's timer went off just then, and it was time to move onto the next quadrant. Peter would move in from the pink section-- and hopefully, finish off this quadrant once and for all-- and Harry would move into the blue.

Once he was actually in the blue quadrant, he finally found an incomplete room and had an idea. A very time-consuming idea, but wonderfully so. His heart fluttered just thinking about it.

Harry discretely summoned his glider, arming himself with his finger blasters and replacing the batteries with ink canisters. Finally, after placing the rest of the sticky notes, Harry started on his magnum opus: an ink drawing of a diamond ring, with the words  _ Will you marry me, for real this time? _ above it.

He and Peter had some talks about marriage before. As kids, they said they would marry eachother someday. Even in the near year they've been officially dating, they'd had plenty of discussion about it. Peter would probably-- probably-- say yes. Still, Harry's heart couldn't help but leap as he looked at the mural. Had anyone in history ever proposed using sticky notes?

He didn't have time to ponder it. Before he knew it, his hour was up and he had to return to the yellow quadrant. He thought it was hard enough finding an empty room in the blue but  _ Jesus Christ _ , it was like every single nook and cranny had been stuffed with the yellow abominations. Leaving Harry plenty of free time while he finished the remaining rooms, anticipation filling his chest.

Going through the motions-- yellow, pink, orange, blue-- took considerably less time, and they'd switched to alternating every thirty minutes. Harry felt the near end of their sticky note adventures. And sure enough, just as he was about to enter the blue quadrant once more, Peter stopped him, looking as frazzled as Harry felt.

"Peter--"

"Everything's all done, Harry," Peter interjected. "We can go home now."

"Did you see the--"

Peter smiled, pulling out a small, golden ring. Harry froze, mouth agape.

"I wanted to propose to you tonight, too. Can't believe you did first  _ and _ did it in a way better way."

Harry broke out into a cheerful laugh, pulling Peter into a tight hug. Peter gave him a peck on the cheek, running his hands up and down Harry's back.

"My answer's yes, by the way, if you couldn't tell."

Harry smiled even wider. "Mine is, too."

-.-.-

The graduation ceremony was wonderful. Peter was fashionably late, of course, and he looked amazing in his gown and hat. May had smothered him, cooing about how proud she was and how cute she looked. Peter resisted at first, but eventually gave in, silently pleading Harry for help. Harry refused, of course, and instead opted to take a bunch of photos and videos.

Everything had been going great. That was, until, Max Modell had announced a walk through Horizon campus, and everyone had immediately discovered what Peter and Harry had done.

"Did you two really...?" Gwen trailed off, holding her face in her cap. She was doubled-over laughing, her voice high and exasperated.

"How did you do this in one day?" Anya asked, pulling a sticky note off one of the windows. Harry remembered that window, and that day which seemed so far away now, when he handed Peter a tube of chapstick and kissed him like it was no big deal.

Peter seemed to have the same thought because he nudged Harry in the side and pointed to the window with a wide smile. Harry almost kissed him the way he had all that time ago, but Anya coughed politely. They shuffled away sheepishly.

"Seriously! I can't even begin to imagine how we're gonna rid this place of all these notes," Miles said.

Before either of them could respond, an amused Max creaked the door open.

"So, who was the one who drew a proposal mural near the broom closets?"

Harry broke into a coughing fit, heat rising to his face. Peter laughed, scratching the back of his neck.

"Sorry, Max!"

Max only gave a small grin, waving his hand.

"Well, it's whatever. Now come on, we're about to give our final address."

Finally, after everyone had received their diplomas, Max had given one final speech about how proud he was and how the next generations of Horizon would certainly remember the class as exceptional. Then it was time to throw their caps.

Harry grinned at Peter, who seemed to have the same idea as him. They both grabbed their hats and waited for the signal.

The moment everyone cheered and threw up their caps, Peter dragged Harry down for a long kiss. People whooped and laughed around them, but Harry could only focus on Peter, and how his presence washed out anyone else's by a mile.

They only broke apart when they were about to pass out from lack of air, and looking at Peter in his arms, flushed and happy and beautiful, he could only give a soft smile and lean back in for another kiss. Peter's face felt rough with stubble, and with a laugh, he remembered the pillowball and the unnecessarily dramatic lesson in shaving.

"Do I really need to teach you how to shave again?" Harry asked. Peter laughed, hugging him close.

"I wouldn't mind."

Peter stared into his eyes, warmth and fondness swirling so potently inside them that Harry felt like he could drown just by looking at him.

"I wouldn't mind at all," Peter said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gotta love how it took 4 chapters for them to get their shit together and start dating and 1 to propose. and if you couldn't tell, the graduation was written by a 14 year old homeschooled child, so that's why it's probably entirely inaccurate
> 
> also, feel free to drop a comment if you'd like! even a simple "AAA" would make my day


	6. Hangover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> IT'S THE FINAL CHAPTER!!! WOOHOO!!!  
> this is the first fanfiction i've ever finished of this length. i'd like to thank past me for not leaving any threads to stitch together a more satisfying final chapter and future me, for learning from this mistake and learning how to build stuff up.  
> most of all, I'd like to thank everyone who kudos'ed and commented. y'all are a writer's best friend, and I hope y'all have a great life.  
> anyway, thanks to aforementioned past me not leaving any threads to pick up on here, this chapter is almost entirely parksborn bantering and being totally in love.

Harry always served to absolutely baffle Peter.

That's not to say he didn't love Harry to the edges of every universe and back-- _god_ , would he lay down his life for this man. But sometimes he caught Harry in the dead of night as he took apart a toaster and attached it to a pile of scrap metal. _It's a robot,_ Harry said, _it just_ _needs a little polishing_. Or he'd walk in on Harry having a meeting and the first words out of his mouth? "And so what if we didn't know we were harboring a portal to 1972?"

Then sometimes Harry walked through the door of their shared apartment, would collapse right next to Peter, and start complaining about paperwork and _taxes._ Or he'd stop Peter from heading to ESU and convince him to stay in all day. Because Harry has the stupidest ability to make the most adorable puppy eyes and how in the world could Peter say no to him?

Indeed, Harry seemed to possess abilities no mortal man should. Whether it be making armor based off mantis shrimp cell structure, or drowning three cups of sugar in cold coffee and downing it in one go.

But nothing could come close to right now. Right now, Harry had decided to drink god knows how many shots of vodka in celebration of turning twenty-one.

"It's a special occasion," Harry said, hanging off Peter's shoulders. "It's not everyday you get to legally get drunk off your ass."

"Legally?"

"You don't know me." 

Peter sighed and dragged Harry through the halls of Flash's apartment building. Oh, Peter was so gonna beat his ass for throwing Harry a gigantic party. He _knows_ Harry has an inane desire for those.

"C'mon Pete, you should've had some." Harry poked him in the cheek.

Peter glanced at him, all anger immediately dissipating. A pink flush spread across Harry's face and tufts of hair poked out in stark contrast to his usual gelled style.

"I'm still underage, Harry--" Peter swept Harry into his arms-- "and alcohol probably wouldn't work on me. You know how Captain America doesn't get drunk? Probably the same for me."

Harry frowned, leaning into Peter's chest.

"Your superpowers suck." Peter shook his head and stepped into the elevator, watching the numbers go down. Harry shuffled in his grip, soft breaths audible in the elevator.

"I can't believe you thought Cap was born in, fuckin', 1918," Harry said.

"We are _not_ having this conversation again."

Harry laughed, bouncy and soft, and Peter couldn't help but smile in return.

"Yeah. I'm glad I'm-- I have you."

"You're lucky you have me. Who else would drag one-hundred pounds of drunk man all the way home?"

"I called a driver. You can't drive."

Peter hummed in approval, stepping out of the elevator. An old lady stared at them and Peter stifled a laugh. Harry seemed to sense this too, as a goofy grin broke out on his face and he leaned in to peck Peter on the lips. The old lady scoffed and turned away.

"Bitch," Harry mumbled. Peter half-heartedly flicked him and carried him outside.

A soft sigh escaped his lips as rain and urban streets filled his vision and their distinct odors hit his nose. A breeze ruffled his clothes. Some people-- notably businessmen-- stared at them, but Harry only wrapped his arms tighter around Peter.

As they waited for their driver, Harry caught his eye. He reached out and swept the hair out of Peter's face.

"What's up?" Peter asked, stilling Harry's hand.

"I can't believe we're married." Surprisingly, his voice seemed entirely sober. "I love you. Have I ever told you that?"

"Only five-hundred times," Peter teased.

Harry shook his head. "It's not enough. I love you."

He leaned in, but their limo pulled up. Peter shook his head, grinning. Harry sighed and let himself stumble out of Peter's arms.

Peter got them both situated and the driver took off. Harry wrapped himself around Peter's arm and nuzzled against his shoulder. Peter carded through his hair, letting his eyes close.

They rode in relative silence. The radio quietly played some pop song from the radio and the passing cars revved and whooshed by. If Peter listened closely, he could hear Harry's soft breaths. He closed his eyes, letting his mind wander.

Harry Osborn. The absolute love of his life. It was hard for him to overstate just how _gone_ Peter was for him. Even if Harry tested on himself, ran on three hours of sleep, and made Peter feel like an overprotective boyfriend. Despite all that, his heart still fluttered every time Harry existed within his line of sight.

In retrospect, he'd felt like this for a long, long time. Of course-- back when he'd first developed feelings-- he was quite prone to falling for anyone who gave him an ounce of attention. He'd assumed everyone felt that way about their friends. It wasn't until Peter discovered social media, and by extension, the term "bisexuality" that the realization of _Oh, I_ _'m in love with my best friend_ hit him.

He'd tried keeping it a secret. In all honesty, being in the closet helped him hone his sneaking around skills for Spider-Man activities.

But now, he couldn't even dream of still being in the closet. Harry practically stole his heart, wrapped it in steel chains, locked it in a box, and hid it in an unbreakable safe. Not that Peter was complaining, of course. He'd sell his soul for Harry.

Peter looked down at him. He watched his hair bounce in rhythm with all the bumps and turns, how he was all cuddled up next to Peter. He tightened his grip around Harry and pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead. Harry shuffled, letting out a little noise. He shifted so Peter ended up squished against the door.

His arm and legs quickly fell asleep, and Harry's elbow pressed uncomfortably into his stomach. Peter smiled, once again letting his eyes close. The whole set-up was painfully uncomfortable and awkward.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

\--

It had been almost three years since Kra-- since Peter went missing for two weeks.

The nightmares hadn't stopped.

Maggots and dirt and darkness and _white, blinding white_ swarmed his mind every single night. Sometimes, it was just a normal dream, until he broke apart and was back in an endless void of white.

Sometimes he woke up screaming. Sometimes it felt like he'd never wake up at all. Staring, entranced, at a dark ceiling, until he realized Harry was next to him, alive and breathing.

Like now. Peter wrapped himself around Harry, snuggling into the crook of his neck. He swallowed back a lump in his throat, instead leaning into the heat radiating from the body next to him. He let out a shaky breath, checking the time.

_5:21 AM_

Classes didn't start until ten, and Harry had a meeting at eleven. In any other case, he would've fallen back asleep and thanked god for allowing him five more hours of sleep.

Not this time.

But, thankfully, Harry stirred in his arms and pushed himself up.

"Pete?" he asked sleepily before groaning. "Oh, god, my head."

Peter silently resigned himself to Bad Feelings with a capital B before sitting up, rubbing the itchy stubble on his face.

"That's you get for drinking so much," Peter said.

"It was worth it." Harry smiled. Peter half-heartedly punched his shoulder.

Slipping out of bed, Peter asked, "Want some water?"

"Yes, please," Harry moaned, leaning back. "I feel like I haven't seen a single drop of water in ten years."

"With _your_ diet? I wouldn't be surprised."

A beat of silence. Peter pulled on a shirt and pants as he listened to the quiet footsteps of their upstairs neighbors and the distant city traffic.

"You alright, Pete?" Harry asked.

"Huh? Yeah, I'm fine." Peter turned around. Harry frowned as he combed his hands through his hair. "Why do you ask?"

"You just.... look a little sad today."

Peter cracked a smile that he hoped didn't look too pitiful. "That's just my face."

"No, your face is too cute for that." Harry shook his head. "Nevermind. Hand me a shirt?"

After a couple minutes of debating the logistics of Peter combining red and yellow-- _It's too much, Peter,_ Harry argued, _you have to balance the red with something neutral,_ Peter finally got Harry his water and painkillers. Peter settled down next to him.

"God is cruel and unjust," Harry lamented as he nursed his glass.

"You're cute when you're speaking blasphemy."

Peter rested his head on Harry's shoulder, looking up with a grin. Harry rested his forehead against his, staring into eachother's eyes. This close, Peter could see Harry's eyes weren't actually blue. They were a dark gray, saturated with nothing but a few stray flecks of blue and green.

"Hey," Harry said.

"Hi."

"Whatcha doing?"

"Loving you."

Harry laughed, looking away. "Fuck off, no you're not."

"I love you, Harry~" Peter said in a sing-song tone.

"I love you more."

"Impossible. You can't have more than infinity." Peter took his hand, pressing a chaste kiss to it.

"Stop," Harry whined. "Don't you have homework or something?"

"All my work for the next two weeks is done," Peter replied somewhat boastfully.

"Show-off."

Peter chuckled. Turning his attention to the TV, he asked, "Hey, you wanna watch a movie? You know, we have like five hours til we have to do anything."

"Aren't movies usually reserved for night?"

Peter sighed. "C'mon. You know you wanna."

"Yeah, okay, I do." Harry grinned. "We _are_ watching a _movie,_ right? And not a documentary?"

Five minutes later and they were watching the opening credits of _Blue Planet_. Harry gave him an exasperated look, which Peter laughed off. In any case, Harry held Peter tight and rested against him. They silently watched a smack of jellyfish drift through the water.

"That one's you," Harry said, pointing to a random one.

"That's a compliment. Jellyfish are so badass."

"They don't have brains."

"Aw, I can't believe we found your family." Harry giggled, eyes crinkling at the corners. Oh, Peter was _gone_ gone. How was he ever supposed to fall out of love with this man? He pressed a hand to his chest, letting his head fall against Harry's shoulder.

"How's your hangover?" Harry hummed, running his fingers through Peter's hair.

"Like I never had it."

"Was it the water or the documentary?"

"It was you, obviously."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed, and thank you to everyone who subscribed to this fic and stuck with it through the nearly two months it took to get it all up.


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